


Fate

by orlesiantitans



Series: 100 Themes [26]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7277311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orlesiantitans/pseuds/orlesiantitans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The words are eerily familiar, written in a small, cramped script wrapped around his ankle. Ever since he woke with them there at age ten, he’d worried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fate

Evelyn Trevelyan, Princess of Ostwick has nineteen years to his twenty nine when he takes up his position as her personal guard. She looks him up and down with an assessing eye, and he does his best not to squirm. Eventually, she gives a hum and a nod, and he feels as if he’s passed some kind of test.

“Well, I suppose father could have picked worse,” she says, and he tries not to choke. The words are eerily familiar, written in a small, cramped script wrapped around his ankle. Ever since he woke with them there at age ten, he’d worried. An arranged marriage? That was the only explanation he could come up with.

This is not an improvement.

“I aim to impress, my lady,” he eventually replies, and she stiffens immediately, eyes glancing over her shoulder. The Princess of Ostwick is wise indeed. Her eyes sweep over him once more.

“Thank the Maker my father was not around to hear that,” she murmurs, but says no more on the subject. He is not sure whether he is glad of that fact or resentful, but he keeps his lips sealed instead. His job is to watch her; hers is to rule. To marry a man who is selected for her.

So instead of doing what his heart tells him, and allowing himself any involvement, he simply watches her. In court, on journeys, whenever he is required to. He finds himself trusted implicitly by the King, but is unnerved when he is asked to accompany her on a journey- alone. These past few months have left his mind occupied with thoughts of her, and he is uncertain as to whether time alone with her would be wise. But Lord Matthew Trevelyan just offers up a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“I trust you to keep her safe, Cullen,” he assures him. “It is but a short journey, to Starkhaven. A few days, at most.”

So it is with no small amount of trepidation that Cullen packs his bags and prepares himself for the journey, meeting with Princess Evelyn early in the morning. She glances up from where she is staring- her nails- and offers him a weak smile. They don’t speak- terrifyingly, their thoughts seem in tune a lot of the time- but make a mutual decision to leave.

It is like this for a few hours- simply a comfortable silence- before she breaks it.

“So. You have me alone for a few days. What do you plan to do with them?” she tosses him a playful smile, and he stumbles over himself. After opening and closing his mouth a few times, he swallows.

“Nothing.”

Her smile remains on her face, though she throws glances in his direction. Playful ones, trying to figure out how to break him efficiently. He doesn’t return them, instead trying to focus on finding a place to set up camp. When he finds one, she sighs and pulls traps out of her bag, glancing up at his surprised expression.

“Did you honestly think you weren’t going to sleep the whole time we were away? I’m not incapable, I know how to keep the camp free of any monsters,” she tells him, and begins setting them up in strategic positions. Cullen just watches with a kind of fascination, slightly surprised that a Princess knows anything of battle.

When the traps are set and she settles down in front of the fire, they begin to eat slowly. She talks a little of her childhood, and he does the same, telling her of Honnleath and his siblings, and the post he’d taken with other families in Ferelden and Kirkwall- until both had gone sour, the first from invaders and the second from betrayal. She listens intently, and eventually places her hand over his, eyes soft on his. He stares back and then slowly- so slowly- leans in to kiss her. She responds in kind, one hand sliding up his neck, into his hair, and his hands drop to her waist. He pulls back, breathes out steadily.

“Maker, I shouldn’t…” he murmurs, an unmistakable shake to his voice. She just leans in again, kisses him harder, and he gives in- to the Void with the consequences. No matter how many there may be.

She divests him of his clothing very quickly, and he responds in kind. She is not the first woman he’s had- though she’s one of the few- and he thrusts up to her in one smooth movement.

The flinch of sharp pain that crosses her face brings him back to his senses, and his eyes widen. The guilt inside him wars with the heat in his groin, and the realization that he’s _spoiled_ her. Taken her virginity, ruined her with his own selfishness. He should have known better, she’s a Princess, of course she’d be a virgin. She opens her eyes to look at him and they lock. Her hand moves to his hair, tucking a curl that had fallen out of its’ usual, carefully sculpted style back behind his ear. She smiles. His head falls forward to rest in the crook of her neck. He whispers ‘sorry’ into the soft skin of her neck and she shakes her head.

“From the moment you said my words, there was never another man who could take my heart as you did, Cullen Rutherford,” she whispers, and moves her hips slightly. Lifting his head, seeing the encouragement in her eyes, he can almost feel her in his mind. Telling him to move.

And he does, glad when he begins to hear the whispers she gives when his fingers slide between them. She still gives a full-body flinch when his body leaves hers, but she curls into his side regardless. With his attention back to him, and the angle she lays at, he sees his own cursive, messy handwriting on her hip. ‘I aim to impress, my lady’. He traces it and her body shivers at the touch.

“What will we do, now that I’ve defiled you?” he asks, and she laughs. A soft sound, not tinkling but more rough, odd compared to many of her counterparts in the court.

“I don’t know. I think I could make a half-decent farmer’s wife, if you taught me how not to burn everything I try to cook.”


End file.
